Loose Ends
by Nasturtian
Summary: What happened to Stephen Black? Did he ever see Mrs Brandy again? Do Childermass and Segundus ever man up and tell each other how they feel? How will Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell ever escape the Pillar of Darkness? And is that really the Count of Monte Cristo? Let's find out.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

I recently saw the mini-series and LOVED IT, but I have loved the book for far longer, and I am much more familiar with the story as presented by Ms Clarke herself. So if you haven't read the book you might be a little confused by some of the people and events in this story.

John Squared doesn't make an appearance until Chapter Two, but it will be there, I promise!

All characters belong to other, more talented people. Only the mistakes are mine

Chapter 1: In Which the Person Once Known as Stephen Black Does Not Abduct Mrs Brandy

 _April 1817_

The bell over the shop door tinkled merrily. Toby Smith glanced up to see who had entered, his mouth opening to form the words "How may I help you, sir?" When he saw who it was, no sound came out and he merely stared, jaw hanging slack in his astonishment. It was Stephen Black, Sir Walter Pole's butler.

Or was it? He had the same impeccable clothing, the same perfectly correct bearing, the same handsome face and figure made more striking by skin the color of Mrs Brandy's finest carracca chocolate. Not so familiar was the expression on Black's face. Gone was the unhappy, distant look that Toby recalled seeing during his ever-less-frequent visits to the shop in recent years. Gone was the impression of a man always listening for something dreadful just beyond the edge of hearing. Instead he looked calm and (Toby thought wildly) more _present_ than the average person would. It was as though Black's entire being, clothes and all, was several shades brighter and more solid than it should be.

"Mr Black!" gasped Toby, finding his voice at last. "What a pleasure to see you again, sir! It has been far too long!"

Black smiled at him. "Too long, indeed. Longer than you know. Is Mrs Brandy about? I would speak with her, if she is at liberty."

"Why yes, Mr Black, I believe she is in the stockroom," said Toby, wincing as he closed the ledger on his own fingers in his haste. "I'll just tell her you've come, sir. I won't be a moment." He bowed himself out through the stockroom door, wondering why the appearance of an old customer should cause him to be all of a-tremble.

"Mrs Brandy," he called, wending his way through the barrels and crates of goods. "Are you back here, ma'am?"

"Yes, Toby, what is it?" came his mistress's voice from the far corner. He poked his head around a shelf stacked with biscuit tins and found Mrs Brandy sitting on a tall stool, counting spice jars. "Do you know, we have sold more cinnamon during the past month than we did in the whole year before that? Do you suppose - why, Toby, whatever is the matter? You look quite ill."

"It's - well - it is the gentleman who has just come in," said Toby. Mrs Brandy's bright eyes were fixed on him in that way she had which meant _get on with it, Toby_ so he blurted out the rest with no thought for tact: "It is Stephen Black. He wishes to speak with you."

Mrs Brandy grew perfectly still, and her eyes dimmed. Then she slid off the stool, brushed the cinnamon-scented stockroom dust from her gown, and marched straight into the shop, her chin raised high. Toby watched her go with admiration. Time had added a few inches to her waist and some strands of silver to her hair, but she was still a fine figure of a woman.

Meanwhile, Mrs Brandy found herself deflating somewhat when confronted with a Stephen Black who was even more poised and handsome than her memory had made him. He took her hand and bowed over it, not kissing it but bring it so close to his face that she felt his warm breath.

"Mr Black," said she, trying to sound cool and distant but ending up with slightly squeaky. "I had quite given you up. Wherever have you been hiding yourself these past years?" The words were ones she had rehearsed in the privacy of her mind many times, and although they were intended to sound careless and flippant, she could not keep the love and pain that had filled her heart for so long from shining through her eyes. To her amazement, she saw tears shining back at her as Mr Black straightened his back and met her gaze.

"My dearest Mrs Brandy," he said (how soft and deep his voice was!). "I want nothing more than to answer that question to your total satisfaction. You have always been my truest friend and knowing that I have caused you such pain since - " he faltered " - since first I began to be - unwell - has been a source of bitter sorrow to me. I do not pretend to be able to make full amends, but I would be honored if you would give me leave to try."

Mrs Brandy found herself quite unable to remain aloof in the face of such sincerity. "Oh Mr Black, I am _so_ glad that you are here," she said, giving his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. "Please come upstairs to the sitting-room and let me make up a pot of tea. Then we shall sit and talk, as we used, and you shall explain it all."

Stephen Black followed her to the cosy upstairs room where he had once spent so many cheerful hours. He seated himself at the small table by the fire and watched her bustle about, preparing tea and biscuits as though her heart were not hammering hard enough to nearly be audible across the room.

Mrs Brandy shot many a rapid glance at him as she worked, wondering at the change in him. _He is regal_ , she thought, setting the china cups in their saucers. _How clearly I can picture him wearing a crown and sitting upon a throne just as easily as he sits in that old wooden chair!_ She wrinkled her brow at the oddness of that thought and carried the tray to the table, hardly trembling at all.

"I am sure you remember Lady Pole's long illness," said Mr Black, and the _non sequitur_ made her blink.

"Oh! yes, of course," said Mrs Brandy. "I could hardly forget it, when the true nature of her suffering has been so lately revealed! It seems that folk talk of little else these days. Indeed, it has been much upon my own mind. That poor woman- to have been enchanted for so long, and unable to even speak of it..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "But forgive me, what has that to do with - with your coming here today?"

"It has everything to do with it, my dear Mrs Brandy. You see, I was under the same enchantment."

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, this was not it. She stared at him. "You, Mr Black? But you were not returned from the dead, were you?"

"No, I was not, but the fairy employed by Mr Norrell to restore Lady Pole took a great liking to me, and compelled me to attend him at his slightest whim, night and day. As soon as I realized what was happening to me (for at first I thought it all no more than a bad dream) I made the utmost effort to distance myself from you. I feared above all things that if the Gentleman had a chance to spend any time in your company he would soon have drawn you into his web as well. He was fond of adding lovely and intelligent human women to his household. Indeed, that is how Mrs Strange came to be enchanted as well."

The words came tumbling out in a great hurry, as though he wished to say as much as he could before she stopt him.

"Mrs Brandy, I can never apologize enough for the pain I have given you, and I can only pray that now that you know my reasons, you may find it in your heart to one day forgive - " He broke off, and looked down at his hand where it rested on the table. Mrs Brandy had laid her fingers upon his.

"My dear Mr Black," she said, voice unsteady with joy ( _he thought her lovely and intelligent! As much so as Lady Pole and Mrs Strange! Enough to be in danger of being whisked off to Other Lands!_ ). "I pray that you do not spend another moment of anxiety on that account. I forgive you."

Mr Black seemed quite overcome by her response, and gave her pretty, plump fingers a squeeze with his long, elegant ones.

"But my suffering can have been nothing compared to your own!" she exclaimed. "How glad you must be to be free of it! And Sir Walter must be delighted to have both his wife and his faithful servant restored to their natural selves!"

"I am sure he is delighted by his wife," agreed Mr Black, "but I do not know how he feels about me. I have not returned to his service. I am my own master now."

Mrs Brandy raised an eyebrow. "And what are you doing now, instead of serving Sir Walter?"

"I have become King of the fairy realm of Lost-hope."

Mrs Brandy raised the other eyebrow.

"I know it is difficult to believe, but it is the truth," said Mr Black. "There is no faster way to convince you than by shewing you, so..." He looked over his shoulder and said, "Open the way, Stonegarden."

A fresh breeze sprang up, bringing the smell of green leaves and grass into the little upper room, and the door swung open. It did not reveal the dim stairway that led to the shop stairs, but a sunshine-drenched glade surrounded by cherry and apple trees in full blossom. Petals blew into the room. Some landed in Mrs Brandy's hair.

"You were once kind enough to say that you would go anywhere for my sake," Stephen Black was saying. "I do not ask you to follow me to Africa, but to somewhere much stranger - and yet much closer - for the doors between England and Lost-hope are no longer hard to open. Your friendship and affection have been the best part of my life. They are the only thing I lack as I take up a new world of responsibility and power. If you need time to consider, I understand. If you would rather I go and never return, I understand that also. You need not fear that I will bring you away against your will, or that coming with me means that you may never return to England, or - what are you doing?"

"I am writing to let Toby know that I am leaving the shop in his charge while I am gone," said Mrs Brandy, scribbling furiously on the back of an old envelope.

"And how long will that be?" asked Mr Black.

"Oh," said Mrs Brandy, "forever, I should think." She took his arm and smiled up at him. "Let us be away, then, my dear Mr Black."

"That is actually no longer my name," he said, as they stepped into the sunshine. "I have left that part of myself behind."

"Well, I do not intend to remain Mrs Brandy for much longer, either," said Mrs Brandy.

"I am the King, so you shall be Queen, if you like," said the King of Lost-hope.

"That will do very nicely, my dear."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: In Which John Segundus and John Childermass Discuss the Works of Jane Austen

 _October 1817_

"Are you in here, Mr Childermass?" said Segundus, peering into the library of the Starecross School for Magicians. "Mrs Pleasance has prepared a little supper for those of us who remain tonight."

Childermass closed the book he had been reading from with a snap and looked up, grinning. "I have found you out, Mr Segundus."

This was not reassuring. Segundus reached out and took hold of the doorframe for support, wondering what on earth was meant by this extraordinary assertion. "How do you mean, sir?"

"I would never have guessed you to be a reader of three-volume novels, but the evidence cannot be denied." He held up the book in. " _Pride and Prejudice_ , by the author of _Sense and Sensibility_...so well-thumbed! So full of bookmarks!"

Segundus breathed freely again. For a moment he had thought - well, no matter what he had thought. "Those are remnants of Lady Pole's time with us here," he said, coming the rest of the way into the room. "It was one of the ways we had to keep her somewhat occupied - we would take it in turns to read aloud to her. Nothing remotely magical or romantic would suit, you understand. She favored the strictly realistic novels in which the greatest obstacle to be overcome was the prosaic struggle of how to get through life without being desperately poor or unhappy."

Childermass put the book back in the case with its companion volumes and stood up. "Perhaps not such a prosaic struggle, sir, and one which we all face. But I can well understand why the gloom of _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ might not have appealed to Lady Pole. Was _Pride and Prejudice_ more to her liking?"

"As much as any thing ever was while she was under the enchantment." Segundus smiled. "I grew rather fond of it myself, I will admit. Miss Austen has a shrewd wit which I find pleasing."

"She certainly takes joy in skewering the shortcomings of the less intelligent. It is one of my favorite pastimes as well." Childermass's dark eyes gleamed with humor. "Now, I believe you mentioned dinner?"

"Ah yes. Nothing out of the ordinary, with almost everyone gone for the holiday, but it will be hot at least. Shall we?"

"After you."

They proceeded to the dining room, where only one end of the table had been laid for dinner. There were four places set.

"Who else will be joining us?" said Childermass, pulling the tureen of steaming stew closer and inhaling appreciatively.

"Possibly Mr Levy, but I am not sure - he said something earlier about not wanting to break off in the middle of an interesting experiment. Something to do with two-way communication through mirrors..."

"Ah yes, I remember him - one of Strange's old students, you got him to come teach here. He was working on the mirrors the last time Vinculus and I stopt here. No success?"

"Not yet, but he feels he is near a breakthrough. I hope he achieves it soon, as it is beginning to interfere with his tutoring schedule. Ah, thank you, Mrs Pleasance!" The housekeeper had come in with a loaf of her famous bread, still warm from the oven.

"Just the thing to go with stew, Mr Segundus," she said happily, setting it down in front of him. "Will your companion be at table, Mr Childermass? I did lay a place for him," she added, with slightly less enthusiasm. Childermass shook his head.

"No, Mrs Pleasance, he's gone for a walk. I don't expect we'll see him again until breakfast." Mrs Pleasance, aware that _gone for a walk_ meant _gone to raise Cain in the village_ , looked relieved, bobbed a curtsey, and left the room.

"Have you made any progress with the translation?" Segundus inquired courteously, when they had eaten with silent attention for some minutes.

"A little," said Childermass. "I am chusing to get the symbols copied down first. I have a feeling it will be easier to concentrate on a text that does not move about of its own accord and complain that it needs a drink."

"Oh! So you do not agree with the theory that the Book should remain only in its original form? That is to say, on Vinculus and no where else? I have heard some people worrying that perhaps the Raven King did not intend the general public to have access to his writings."

"I've heard the same. One way or another, I need to be able to read the d-d thing before I can tell anyone whether the contents are suitable for all and sundry."

"Of course," mused Segundus, "the original Book was written in the conventional format, so the Raven King isn't opposed to the concept outright..."

When they had finished their stew, bread, and conversation, they removed to the library, where the fire had been built back up into a comforting blaze. Charles, Segundus's manservant, brought them coffee. Segundus read over some of his old letters from Jonathan Strange and made notes for the biography he was planning to write. Childermass got out his cards but did not lay them out, preferring to turn the deck over and over in his left hand as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips with his right, staring into the flames all the while.

Some time later Segundus set down his pen, cleared his throat and said: "Did I ever thank you, Mr Childermass, for bringing Lady Pole here?"

Childermass looked startled. "Why would you? You were nearly undone by living in such close proximity to the enchantment for so long."

"No, not for Lady Pole specifically," said Segundus, shaking his head. "But for keeping your word and remembering me - us - after our initial purpose was...disrupted. I had assumed you were merely trying to placate us with empty words. I was never more surprized or - or - moved than when you wrote to ask if we would be Lady Pole's keepers."

"Well," said Childermass, laughing, "as I told you at the time, I am a very fine fellow. Even if I don't look it."

Segundus smiled. "There is nothing wrong with how you look. One simply has to get used to the idea that some people appear as though they just stepped out of the pages of a Gothic romance or a bad play."

Childermass was shaking with mirth now. "Such flattery! I wasn't too sure of you at first either."

"Oh? In what way?"

"You must remember that the only magician I'd ever spent any time with was Norrell. I assumed all magicians were as secretive, arrogant, and deceitful as him...and me. You appeared modest, and gentle, and kind-hearted, so naturally I assumed you were simply better at disguising your true nature than most."

Segundus looked flustered. "Dear me! How alarming! It sounds as though I must be either a villain or a milksop. Which am I?"

"Neither, sir, neither. I was reluctant to believe it, but years of careful observation and study have convinced me that you are actually as amiable and good as you seemed at first acquaintance. This makes you entirely unique in my experience." He raised his coffee cup in a half-ironic salute.

Segundus covered his flaming face with one hand. "You make it sound as though I am a laboratory experiment. What am I to believe, that you routinely consulted your cards about me and took extensive notes?"

"Actually..."

"Actually what?"

"That is exactly what I did."

Segundus sat up straight and stared at the other man, his self-consciousness overpowered for the moment by astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

Childermass waved the cards of Marseilles in the air. "I consulted the cards about you at regular intervals and recorded the results. I knew from our first meeting that you had a sensitivity to magic almost equal to my own, and the cards told me that you had some important part to play in the restoration of English magic. I did not wish to draw Norrell's attention to you, so I was obliged to keep an eye on you in my own way." He smiled his sideways smile. "Are you offended?"

"Well - I - that is to say - " Segundus was fairly spluttering by this point, half-suffocated by the amount of things he wanted to say, most of them furious and indignant. His native good manners and restraint prevented him from saying precisely what was in his heart, however, and he settled for standing up and striding back and forth across the library, running his hands distractedly through his mop of greying hair. Finally he halted in front of Childermass's seat and glared down at him. "I cannot pretend that I am pleased by this news, Mr Childermass," he said. "But I will wait to hear more. Were you - _spying_ on me? What on earth could you have learned about me from those confounded cards?"

Childermass leaned back to meet his gaze more easily. He did not sound particularly contrite as he said: "Nothing to cause you any distress. The cards tend towards the absurdly broad or the ridiculously specific, depending on the questions one puts to them. I was chiefly interested in your magical activities, and also in your character. I learned that you continued your magical studies as best you could in the circumstances, and that you were almost entirely free of guile and ambition. Nothing I couldn't have discovered by interrogating your landlady, but as I said, I had to be discreet."

"But you said you have carried out this reprehensible program for years! What could possibly have held your attention for that long? I am sure that aside from the incident with Lady Pole's finger I must have possessed the dullest, dreariest fortune ever told. You must have some deeper purpose, sir, that you have not yet revealed to me. I demand that you tell me your true reasons for this - this - monstrous breach of propriety." Segundus's gentle nature was dissolving in a tincture of mortification and outrage. He was horrified to realize that his eyes were prickling with tears of pure fury and he turned abruptly away.

There was the rustle of clothing and the sound of slow footsteps. Childermass stood at his side. "I can only repeat what I have told you already, John Segundus," he said. "I had no sinister motive. At first I merely wanted to keep track of your actions during a delicate stage of my master's career, but as time went by I found that I was simply interested in you for your own sake - because I found you interesting. You are the best man I have ever known. I watched you because I could not help myself."

Segundus was aware of an odd ringing in his ears as he stared unblinkingly at the section of wall between the door and the ceiling. Do not say any thing, he sternly admonished himself. He cannot mean what you think he means. Do not say one word. His resolve was badly shaken when Childermass lowered his voice and added: " _In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you_." Segundus turned to look at the man beside him (Did he really just quote Mr Darcy at me?), searching his dark face for any sign of mockery or jest. He found none. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and then nearly bit his tongue clean off when Tom Levy came dashing into the room, brandishing a shaving mirror and shouting "I've got it! I've got it! Take a look at this, chaps!"

Segundus stept quickly forward with exclamations of greater excitement than he felt, endeavoring to conceal the thunderous upheaval taking place within himself. Childermass, too, bent over Levy's mirror with every appearance of interest. "Well?" he said. "I can see Mr Hadley-Bright."

"Yes, but can you not see he is looking _at_ us?" said Levy. "He knows we are here! He can see us in a mirror of his own!" He gesticulated at his friend in the mirror, and Hadley-Bright waved back, saying something that they could not hear but looking every bit as exultant as Levy. "We have made these two mirrors answer to each other! Is that not fine?" He beamed at the older men, then resumed his attempt to communicate with the magician in the glass.

"Next you had better find a way to get sound to pass through the mirror," observed Segundus, "otherwise it will be more like a long-distance game of Charades."

"Come now, don't be a wet blanket, sir!" said Childermass. "Let him have his moment. This is a new achievement in magic, as far as I know. You are to be congratulated, Mr Levy."

"Thank you! Thank you!" said Levy, executing a few steps of a jig in his jubilation (he was apt to express emotion in this way when words were insufficient). "Hadley-Bright!" he said loudly, forming the name with exaggerated care so that the other man could read his lips. "Can you read this?" He held up a note and Hadley-Bright squinted at it. Then he shook his head. "Backwards," he mouthed, and Levy nodded vigorously.

"Of course - mirror writing is reversed," he said, and sat down hurriedly at the nearest writing table to try his hand at writing like Leonardo da Vinci.

Childermass and Segundus left him to his scribbling and retreated to their seats by the fire. Childermass's words hung between them like an invisible cloud, waiting to be dispersed by the next person to speak. Both men were reluctant to do so, instead gazing into the fire or at the soot-smudged hearthrug. Finally Segundus raised his head.

"Mr Childermass," he said, so quietly that he could hardly be heard. The other man leaned forward, his ragged hair hanging like a curtain on either side of his face. "You have not respected my privacy. You have said things to me that could endanger both of our reputations and possibly our freedom. If we were in one of Miss Austen's novels, this is where I would give you an outraged lecture and send you away."

Childermass snorted. "Yes, and then I would be obliged to compose a lengthy letter explaining myself, and we would spent the next few months in mutual agonies until all misunderstandings were corrected and all difficulties overcome."

"Exactly. I am pleased to see that you have read the whole book and retained its salient points," said Segundus, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "For good or ill, sir, I think we both prefer a more direct approach." He glanced at Levy to make sure that they were not overheard; the former dancing-master was grimacing and making gestures at the mirror (presumably for the benefit of the magician at the other end) and had no attention to spare for anything else. "You say that you have done these things because you...love me?"

"Aye," said Childermass, his voice a growl. "You have my life in your hands, John Segundus. Do with it what you will."

"Always so dramatic, John Childermass," said Segundus. "I suppose it comes of being one of Mrs Radcliffe's creations." He leaned forward, closing the distance between them until their foreheads touched for the briefest of moments, before sitting back in his chair. "Do not be afraid. Even when I thought you were the Ruin of all my Hopes and Dreams personified - I loved you. Since we are letting Miss Austen do the talking for us this evening: _I cannot fix the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun._ And I love you still."

Childermass blinked at him, his face transforming as a smile - a real smile - spread across his features like the sunrise. "Thank God," he breathed. "I knew I had to tell you, but I did not know what would come of it."

"Those blasted cards again, I suppose?" said Segundus, lifting his eyes to the heavens, and Childermass nodded. "We are going to have to come to an agreement about them, sir. They give you a distinctly unfair advantage over me."

"Ah, no, I need all the help I can get," rejoined Childermass. "These are dark paths that we are going to tread. I, for one, welcome a bit of extra information."

"In spite of my misgivings about them, I confess that I wonder ," said Segundus, hesitating, "do they say what happens? To...us?"

"Let us find out," said Childermass. "Circumstances have altered somewhat since the last time I asked them that question." He laid out the cards on the occasional table beside his chair, then turned them over one by one. Segundus watched him ponder the battered cardboard rectangles, his heart beating hard, waiting to hear their fate. Then Childermass swept the cards into a stack and tucked them away in their accustomed pocket, his usual expression of wry amusement back in place.

"Well, sir?" said Segundus. "Is this - venture - doomed before it starts?"

"I do not think so," said Childermass. "The cards do not tell the end of any story, for that is always changing. But they say that whatever we do, whatever we are - we shall do it and be it together."

Segundus exhaled. "Then that is good enough for me."

"And for me."

They regarded each other silently, two men on the wrong side of the prime of life, one with the quiet air of a scholar, the other with an aura of authority that contrasted oddly with his mode of dress. Then, as though in response to some signal, they both reached out and clasped hands.

Tom Levy gave a crow of delight from the other side of the room. "Ha! I have just shewn Hadley-Bright a note telling him that the weather continues fine here and he has shewn me one of his own informing me that the fog is heavy in London tonight!" He swiveled on his chair to share his triumph with the other two. "I say, what sort of bargain are you two striking over there?"

"We are congratulating ourselves upon our excellent taste in literature," said Childermass. "Are you familiar with the works of Miss Jane Austen? I can recommend them most highly."

Notes:

I know absolutely nothing about tarot cards. Everything I write about them is 100% made up.

"Pride and Prejudice" was originally published in 1813 as a three-volume novel.

"The Mysteries of Udolpho" is the most famous of Ann Radcliffe's Gothic novels.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: In Which a Day of Shopping is Interrupted by an Unexpected Offer

 _Late September 1829_

It was one of those perfect days that come sometimes in early autumn. Summer's heat was past, but the chill of winter had yet to seep into the air, and the trees still flaunted their greenery with unabated vigor. On this perfect day, Arabella Strange and Lady Emma Pole sat at a table in a London tea room. The collection of bags and parcels around their feet indicated that they had spent a successful morning shopping, and had stopt for some much-needed refreshment.

Since the disappearance of Arabella's husband and her houses (both town and country) twelve years before, she had chiefly lived with her brother, Henry Woodhope, and his wife, Sophie. Henry was the rector at Great Hitherden in Northamptonshire, and his house was within easy visiting distance of of Lady Emma Pole's family estate. Arabella had spent the past three months traveling on the Continent with another dear friend, Flora Greysteel, and had written to Lady Pole, asking her to meet her in London on her return. The two ladies were now staying at Sir Walter Pole's house in Harley-street for a few days before going back to Northamptonshire, and were taking the opportunity to make those purchases that could not be managed anywhere else.

"How is Sir Walter, Emma?" asked Arabella, pouring herself another cup of tea. "He has been so much out of the house since I arrived, I have not had more than a moment's talk with him."

"Oh! He is very well indeed," said Lady Pole. "He is getting embroiled in the Cinque Dragownes...he complains exceedingly loud, but he is perfectly happy."

"And is he as amiable as ever?" Arabella put the question as delicately as she could. Her friend's marriage had gone through some difficult times. It had never been a typical union; for the first few months, Lady Pole had been full of unnaturally high spirits, and for a decade afterwards she had been sunk in the horror of her imprisonment in Lost-hope. When she finally regained possession of her will, she had not been too kindly disposed towards Sir Walter, whose tentative attempts at helping her during the course of her torment had been useless.

For Sir Walter's part, he had had to get used to being married to an entirely new woman. Lady Pole had passed from being sickly to being dead, and from there through brief effervescence into lasting despair. When in good health and and un-enchanted, Lady Pole proved to have a fierce independence and intelligence which she used to work against the oppression of women in as many forms as she could identify. Sir Walter was at first appalled, and endured much ridicule about his wife's strong opinions. As time went by, however, he grew to admire Lady Pole's devotion to her cause, and had even been known to agree with her on certain points. He spent most of his life in London and she spent most of hers in Great Hitherden, but they corresponded regularly and were cordial to each other when they met. There have been worse arrangements.

"Indeed," said Lady Pole, who knew what her friend was driving at. "Our opinions differ on many things, and we try to convince each other of our correctness. Sometimes we read the same novels and write to each other regarding what we think of them." There was a softness in her eyes that Arabella rejoiced to see. "And what of yourself? Have you heard any thing or received any new information about Mr Strange?"

Arabella shook her head. "No. I see him in my dreams, sometimes."

"Of course, you must dream of him. You love him so dearly."

"You misunderstand me. I mean that he, himself, is able to come to me now and then while I sleep, and we can converse within the confines of our shared dream. I can never remember what we talk about, but I always wake feeling...cherished."

Her friend took her hand. "Arabella! You have never spoken of this before."

"I know. It happens so rarely, and I never have any definite memory of our discussions, so I don't really have anything to speak of...but it is a great comfort to me."

At this moment they were interrupted when a young man approached their table and said, "Excuse me, ladies. Forgive me for the intrusion, but am I right in believing that you are Mrs Arabella Strange and Lady Emma Pole?"

The women saw before them a man perhaps a little younger than themselves. He was dressed neatly and soberly. He had black hair and a remarkably handsome face. The effect was somewhat marred by his skin, which was so pale as to be almost livid: the man looked as if he had been shut up for a long time in a tomb and afterwards had been unable to recover the natural rosy complexion of the living.

Arabella sighed. "Yes, I am Mrs Strange," she said. "If you are full of questions about my husband, let me save you the trouble. I have not seen him since we parted in Venice. I do not know what he is doing or where he is doing it or whether I shall ever see him again."

"She does not need the protection or companionship of any one," said Lady Pole severely. "She is well provided with friends."

The man was not put off by the rebuff. "Ladies," he said, "I am sincerely sorry for the crass curiosity and opportunism that you must have encountered so often. I do have questions, but not the kind you are imagining."

Arabella inclined her head. "My apologies, sir. What is it that you want from us, if not to beg scraps of information about Lady Pole's past troubles, or about Mr Strange, or to hint that I should be happier if I give up on his return?"

"It is rather difficult to explain." The man straightened his already impeccable cravat and cleared his throat. "My name is Lord Wilmore. I represent a man who is rather...eccentric. He is exceedingly wealthy. He values his privacy above all things - so much so that he does not allow his right name to be spoken, going only by the title of Sinbad the Sailor. He has been living a life of total seclusion for the past fourteen years, so he is currently in the process of familiarizing himself with the major events that took place during that time. One of the events that has drawn his interest in particular is the fate of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. He believes that he may be able to offer you his assistance."

Arabella had been listening to this speech with growing irritation evident on her mobile features. "Lord Wilmore," she said, "I confess that I do not understand why you would renew these subjects when I have already told you my feelings on the matter. I neither want nor require your aid."

"You mistake my meaning, madam," said Lord Wilmore, holding up a pale hand. "The help my employer can give is of a different nature entirely." He spoke more quietly now. "It is of a magical nature. He believes he may hold the key to your husband's freedom."

If he had hoped that this would calm Mrs Strange, he was disappointed. She got to her feet, pulling her shawl tightly about her shoulders, and said crisply: "Oh! It's magical assistance now, is it? And do you suppose that you're the first to come to me with a proposal like this? It is enough to make me regret returning to England at all if I cannot do a simple thing like go to the shops without being pestered by the would-be practitioners of English magic - "

Lord Wilmore bowed. "Forgive me, madam. I did not mean to make myself disagreeable to either of you. I will go. Here is my card. I merely ask to you remember that I said nothing of English magic. There are other kinds." He left his card facedown on the table, bowed again, and left the restaurant.

Arabella resumed her seat, huffing unladylike things under her breath. She picked up Lord Wilmore's card, intending to tear it to pieces, but paused when she saw something written under his name and address:

 _What about Stephen Black?_

She stared at the words, unmoving, until Lady Pole asked what she found so interesting. Arabella turned the card around so that her friend could read it.

Lady Pole glanced quizzically down at the little rectangle. Her eyes widened and her face drained of color. "Good God," she said faintly.

" _Stephen Black_ , Emma! What on earth could he mean? Could he have news of him, or is he trying to gain our confidence by using the name of our old fellow-sufferer?"

"I do not know," said Lady Pole, gazing out into the street. "I do not know. Poor Stephen. I have wondered so often what became of him after that dreadful business with the Gentleman. It was all such a muddle at the end..." Her voice trailed off into silence.

"Emma. I know this is probably a wild goose chase but I must find out for certain. Jonathan is in this situation because he saved me - because he saved us. Would it not be right for me to try to save him, by any means possible?"

"He is in this situation because of Mr Norrell," said Lady Pole. "If that - that _man_ had not done what he did to me in the first place -"

"I know, I know, Mr Norrell is the root cause of all our troubles!" said Arabella, exasperated. "Emma, I have no great love for Mr Norrell. But the fact remains that my husband and I have been separated these twelve years, and I want him _back_. I wish to talk to Lord Wilmore, and I want you to come with me."

"Of course," said Lady Pole. "Forgive me, Arabella. I know how you have suffered."

"It is nothing compared to what you endured, my dear Emma. I have my liberty, after all."

"Regarding a visit to Lord Wilmore: we should not go alone," said Lady Pole. "That would be most unwise. We know nothing of this person."

"What we need is someone we can trust - someone who can tell us what sort of magic we are dealing with - to come with us," mused Arabella.

"Mr Segundus," said Lady Pole instantly. "He has a keen sensitivity to enchantments, and I know he can be trusted implicitly."

"Of course! We can write him at Starecross immediately. I know he is kept busy with his school for magicians, but I am sure he would come. He is the most obliging of men." Arabella was greatly relieved at the thought of Mr Segundus. She had become friends with him while he wrote his biography of her husband, _The Life of Jonathan Strange,_ and the thought of the man's quiet, steady presence at their side as they went to see Lord Wilmore was comforting.

"I think we should also ask Mr Childermass to come with him, if he is available," Lady Pole continued.

Despite many people's best efforts, Mr Norrell's old servant was now regarded as the foremost magician in England. It had caused quite a scandal when he declared himself as the Reader of the King's Letters, and keeper of the King's Book (in the unsavory person of Vinculus of Threadneedle-street). But no matter what their objections, no one could deny that Childermass was the only man left in the world to have spent significant amounts of time with both Mr Norrell and Mr Strange. His work in translating the King's Book made him famous, and his knowledge of magic compelled even the most reluctant gentleman-magician to accept him as their equal, even their superior - at least in magical matters.

"Oh! Do you think he would come?"

"I am sure of it. For all his quarreling with Mr Norrell, the man was his master for a long time, and I know he would prefer him to be out of the Darkness than in it," said Lady Pole.

"Where can he be found?" asked Arabella.

"I have heard that he makes his home at Starecross, when he is not traveling. He does some lecturing there, I believe, and he and Mr Segundus are still working on translating the Book. Apparently there is a great deal more to this one than the single prophecy of the last...edition."

"Ah. Well, let us consider the matter settled for now - we shall write to Mr Segundus and ask him and Mr Childermass to call on Lord Wilmore with us at their earliest convenience. Have you any notepaper with you, Emma?"

"I do," said Lady Pole, rummaging in her handbag.

"Then let us write this very moment, so we can enjoy the rest of the day with a clear conscience." Arabella smiled, her spirits revived. "I still have quite a lot of shopping to do, after all."

"And I shall ask Sir Walter to find out whatever he can about this Lord Wilmore," said Lady Pole.

Notes:

Some lines borrowed from "The Count of Monte Cristo" by Alexandre Dumas


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: In Which John Segundus Reads a Letter and John Childermass Reads the Cards

 _Late September 1829_

"John?"

"Yes, John?"

"I've just received the most extraordinary letter from Lady Pole."

"Oh? What does her ladyship want? More book recommendations? I recall you said she and Sir Walter enjoyed _Persuasion_ particularly."

"No, my dear sir. She wants us to come to London to meet a man called Lord Wilmore, who claims to be able to assist Mr Norrell and Mr Strange in breaking free of the Darkness."

A pause, and a rustle of paper.

"Extraordinary is right. What on earth could he be referring to?"

"Just another magician who thinks he can bend fairies to do his bidding, I should imagine."

"I don't know, John. 'Other kinds of magic.' I wonder..."

Another pause.

"Have you seen my cards?"

"Yes, they are over there on the desk."

A grunt, and the sound of cards whispering against each other as they are dealt.

"Well, sir? Anything of interest?"

"Quite a bit. It seems that there is no such person as Lord Wilmore, for starters."

"I'll have Charles ready the carriage."

"No, we should take the King's Roads."

"Are you in earnest? You know that could cause a far greater delay, should we get lost - which is likely."

"Your facility for direction will guide us true."

"It is not always reliable in magical environments, you know."

"If we stay clear of any actual labyrinths, I am sure we shall be fine."

"As long as you think it worth the risk..."

"I do. We must get to London immediately."

"Then let me inform Mr Honeyfoot of what we are doing, and we shall be off."

Notes:

Samuel West, who played Sir Walter Pole in the BBC miniseries, also played Mr Elliot in the excellent 1995 movie of "Persuasion." (That was a good year for Jane Austen adaptations!)

According to the book, John Segundus "was one of those happy gentlemen who can always say whether they face north or south, east or west. ...but in Mr Norrell's [labyrinth] his gift deserted him."

The next chapter will be MUCH longer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: In Which Unsual People Eat an Unusual Meal in Unusual Circumstances

 _Late September 1829_

At the reassuringly non-occult hour of 5 o'clock in the afternoon, four people sat in the drawing room of a house in a fashionable neighborhood of London. It was, in fact, not far from Mr Norrell's old dwelling in Hanover-square (or at least from where it had been before it vanished, along with its owner, twelve years earlier). They had been admitted by a man with the livery of a footman and the face of an Italian pirate, and were now waiting for the appearance of their host.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, gentlemen," said Lady Pole (who was one of the four). The woman at her side, who was, of course, Arabella Strange, echoed these sentiments, and then added:

"Though I must confess you gave us quite a shock when you arrived in Sir Walter's library."

"Not as much of a shock as we gave Lady Pole's poor maid," said Segundus ruefully.

"Oh! Do not give it a moment's thought. Pampisford has a strong constitution. She is quite used to gentlemen appearing at odd hours to consult with Sir Walter - though perhaps not through mirrors."

"And we did not come to consult with your husband, but with your ladyship and Mrs Strange," said Childermass. "Have you found out anything about this Lord Wilmore since you first wrote Mr Segundus?"

"Yes," said Arabella. "I wrote to tell him that we would meet with him if he would allow us to bring two friends. He responded that same day saying that it would be perfectly acceptable, and gave me this address and time as the place where we were to meet." She looked over at Lady Pole, who said:

"I had urged Sir Walter to discover as much as he could about the man. (I let it be understood that he was interested in donating to one of my charities, and I wished to know more about him before accepting his offer.) He kindly exerted his influence and was shortly able to report that Lord Wilmore is a clerk at the firm of Thompson and French, that he lives abroad most of the time carrying out commissions for this firm, and that no one seems to know anything more about him, either good or bad."

It was at this moment that a servant came into the room. He was not the piratical footman who had shewn them in, but a tall Negro man dressed in a simple white tunic that reached his feet. Arabella seized Lady Pole by the arm and whispered "Stephen?" But Lady Pole, who had thought the same thing for an instant, shook her head. The man before them was of a slighter build than the Pole's former butler, and his skin lacked the warm undertones that Stephen's had possessed. This man was almost true black, with a blue sheen that was disconcerting. He bowed low and motioned that they should follow him.

They complied, Segundus with Lady Pole on his arm and Childermass escorting Arabella. The man in white led them up a long flight of stairs and into a room the first floor. While the rest of the house was furnished like any other respectable English dwelling, this room looked like something out of _The Thousand and One Nights_. Their feet sank up to the ankles in a Turkish rug. The whole place was hung with crimson tapestries, brocaded with gold flowers. From the ceiling dangled a lamp in Venetian glass, delightful in shape and color. In a recess at the back of the room there was a sort of divan, and above it a display of Arab swords with vermeil sheaths and hilts shining with precious stones. Down the center of the room ran a long table of gleaming reddish-brown wood, inlaid with complicated patterns in mother-of-pearl.

At the head of the table stood the man who had introduced himself to Arabella and Lady Pole as Lord Wilmore. He was wearing Tunisian dress, that is to say a red skullcap with a long silk blue tassel; a jacket in black woolen cloth embroidered all over with gold thread; wide, loose, dark-red trousers, with gaiters in the same color; and yellow Turkish slippers. Around his waist was a splendid cashmere belt with a sharp little curved dagger hanging from it.

Segundus put a hand to his head. From behind him Childermass murmured: "You feel it too?"

"Yes," said Segundus quietly. "This whole place is full of magic. But I do not think it is coming from the man at the table."

"Welcome," said Lord Wilmore. "I am delighted that you have come. I have not met the gentlemen of the party before, but I think I am correct in guessing that they are Mr John Segundus and Mr John Childermass, the greatest magicians currently on English soil?"

"You are correct, indeed, sir," said Childermass, noting Lord Wilmore's phrasing. "Though the compliment might not be so great as you intend."

Lord Wilmore smiled in a way that indicated that he knew precisely the extent to which he had meant to compliment them, and said: "Please, do sit down."

The Oriental decor of the room did not extend as far as the seating arrangements, and they settled themselves in ordinary dining room chairs.

Arabella said, "Well, sir, here we are. We have come in the hope that you might be able to help Mr Strange and Mr Norrell be released from the Pillar of Darkness. Would you be so good as to explain what you meant by non-English magic, and your connexion with Stephen Black?"

"I have a few things to ask as well," said Childermass. "Who are you, sir? I know that you are not an Englishman, and you are no more a Lord than I am the Prime Minister. I know that you have no employer. And I know that there is magic in this house, magic that I do not recognize."

Their host beamed. "Excellent! Very good! You are correct. Lord Wilmore is a persona that I assume now and again for reasons of discretion. To shew my good faith, I am now going to tell you my true name and purpose, which will put me utterly at your mercy." He paused, looked at each of them as though to confirm their respective trustworthiness, and then continued:

"My name is Edmond Dantès. I am a Frenchman. I have spent the last fourteen years unjustly incarcerated in the Chateau D'If. I escaped earlier this year, and came into possession of a fortune thanks to the man who was my only friend in prison. I believe that God has given me this immeasurable wealth so that I may carry out His purposes in rewarding those who were my faithful friends and destroying those who betrayed me." He said this with perfect composure, as though none of it were in any way out of the ordinary. "One of the items I discovered in the treasure hoard was a small glass bottle of the kind known in Turkey as the Nightingale's Eye. When I held it in my hand it grew warm and gave a leap, like a living heart, and the next moment there stood before me a djinni."

"A _djinni_?" exclaimed Arabella. "You cannot be serious, sir!"

"But why not, Mrs Strange?" said Segundus, his eyes bright. "I have often wondered how much truth was in tales of the fantastic from countries other than our own. If we have fairies here in England, why shouldn't Turkey be frequented by djinn?" He turned to Edmond Dantès. "This is what you meant, then, by magic that is not English?"

"Yes," said Dantès.

"Where is this djinni, then, sir?" said Childermass.

In answer, Dantès held out a hand towards the Negro servant, who had been standing silently off to one side. "This is he," he said. They all stared, waiting for the servant to vanish in a puff of smoke or do something similarly djinni-like, but he just looked back at them serenely.

"Did he grant you three wishes?" asked Arabella.

"That was his initial offer," said Dantès. "I told him that I would prefer to have him assume human shape and remain by my side to aid me for the duration of the great work which lies before me. Once I had fully explained the wrongs done to me and my purpose on earth as the deliverer of God's vengeance, he agreed. Ali's human form is convincing as long as he does not open his mouth. I put it about that he is my mute Nubian manservant.

"When I had first escaped the Chateau D'If, I made it my business to discover everything of importance that had happened while I was locked away. One of the things I found most intriguing was the scandal of the English magicians, and how they had vanished in early 1817, apparently cursed forever within a Pillar of Darkness. There was not a great deal of information available - mostly speculation. Wondering if a djinni would know anything of the matter, I questioned Ali. He said that, as part of a different branch of the magical community, he had only heard rumors - the most interesting of which was that as a result of the commotion in England, a human butler and his consort (a shopkeeper) now ruled a great kingdom in Faerie called Lost-hope."

Lady Pole and Arabella both gasped softly.

"It is a place that has undergone a renaissance lately," continued Dantès. "It would seem that being governed by humans has been most beneficial. Ali took me there. It was prosperous, orderly, and beautiful beyond belief: a land of peace, and life, with a great castle at its heart, its spires touching the sky."

" _The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces_ ," said Segundus under his breath.

"Wait a moment - a _butler_? Do you mean that _Stephen Black_ is the king of Lost-hope?" said Lady Pole.

"Yes, although he no longer goes by that name," said Dantès.

"Who is Stephen's consort?" said Lady Pole. "You said they were a shopkeeper?"

"Yes. A lovely woman. I do not know what her name was before - now she is simply known as the Queen."

Lady Pole covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh! It is Mrs Brandy! It must be!"

"Who?" said Arabella.

"She used to keep the grocery shop in St James's-street!" said Lady Pole. "Pampisford told me that she used to be quite fond of Stephen - and that she vanished shortly after our enchantment was broken. I had quite forgotten. There was talk of foul play. Nothing was ever found of her but a note in which she directed her assistants to continue to run the shop until she might return...which they do to this day, though I doubt they have any thought of her coming back by now. We still buy our coffee from them," she added with a little laugh.

"Are you suggesting that she went to Faerie with the butler?" said Childermass.

"I am not suggesting it. I am stating it," said Dantès.

"Sir - M'sieur Dantès," said Arabella, "while I rejoice to learn of the good fortune of my friend, I must ask that you get to the point. What has Stephen Black to do with my husband's situation?"

"I am getting there, madam," said Dantès. "Forgive me if the way is winding. While Ali and I were in Lost-hope, the King graciously granted us an audience. We sat with him and his Queen under flowering trees and spoke long, for they are both people of great insight and eloquence.

"Eventually I asked him if he knew anything about the predicament of the two English magicians.

" 'A little,' he said. 'I know that it was the fairy who had enchanted me - the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair - who cursed Mr Strange. When I was briefly (and accidentally) given the entire weight and power of English magic, I used it to end the Gentleman's life, believing it to be my only chance to free Lady Pole, Mrs Strange, and myself. I did not give any thought to Mr Strange at the time. The laws of this place meant that I became King of Lost-hope the moment I defeated the Gentleman, and I soon found myself deeply involved in the task of working to reverse thousands of years of disorder and degeneracy.

" 'When I later searched for news of my friends, I found that Lady Pole and Mrs Strange were alive and free. I assumed that the curse on the magician had ended as well,' he concluded.

" 'The fact is that the curse - which seems to have enveloped Mr Norrell as well as Mr Strange - continued after the destruction of the fairy who cast it,' said I. 'Perhaps some of your courtiers have ideas on the matter?'

"The King agreed that this might well be the case and summoned his major-domo, a person with magnificent ram's horns sprouting from his forehead. When questioned, this person said the prevalent theory among fairy-kind was that the curse must have been called down in the name of the King of Lost-hope. Since Lost-hope acquired a new king the instant that the person who used to be known as Stephen Black destroyed the old one, the curse still stood.

" 'Do you mean to say,' said I, 'that you, my lord King, have the authority to release the magicians from the Darkness?'

" 'So it would seem,' said the King (though he did not seem much interested).

" 'Oh! Pray do so!' cried the Queen, who had been listening closely while embroidering a night-cap. 'My dear, do you not wish to free the poor gentlemen?'

" 'Poor gentlemen?' said the King heatedly. 'My dear, their situation is of their own making. If they had not meddled in things far beyond their ability to controul or comprehend - '

" ' - then you would still be another man's servant, and I would keep a grocery shop, and it is likely that we should never have been able to marry,' said the Queen (who is as practical as she is beautiful). 'I know that you have endured much pain and sorrow as a result of what the first magician did. I suffered as well. But that is all over now. Now we are King and Queen together, and we are happy. Surely you can find it in your heart to end their captivity?'

" 'Do not forget: Strange has a wife who is waiting for him, your majesty,' I persisted. 'You have known the pain of being separated from the woman you love. Surely you would not wish it on any man?'

"This seemed to strike a chord. He sat silent for a few minutes, and then said: 'I was not the only person to suffer as a result of a magician's arrogance and ignorance. I would not presume to try to lift the curse until I made sure that those who were under the gentleman's enchantment with me approved of my action.'

" 'Lady Pole and Mrs Strange?' said I. 'Surely you do not need to ask Mrs Strange! She has been separated from her husband for so long - she would certainly ask you to give him back to her!'

" 'I wish to hear it from her own lips,' said the King. 'She and Lady Pole are women of great intelligence and strength of character. I would never dare to guess what either of them were thinking. Here is what I propose. You, M'sieur, will undertake to find out these ladies' wishes. Your companion, the djinni, is of a similar kind to my subjects; as such, I grant him permission to come to Lost-hope and inform me when Lady Pole and Mrs Strange have reached an accord. At that time I shall come to my old friends and attempt the magic you request.' He reached out and placed his hand at the center of Ali's chest, leaving a five-fingered mark which glowed briefly and then vanished. 'There. You may go now. But before you leave, I must ask you: why do you care? What do you gain from the return of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell?' "

"A question that has been weighing on my mind as well," interjected Childermass dryly. Dantès gave him a brief smile.

"Then I will tell you what I told the King of Lost-hope. First: to have England's foremost magicians owe me a favor will be no bad thing. Second: having spent a third of my life unjustly imprisoned, I have a great sympathy for their plight. Third: when I returned to the world outside my cell, I discovered that my fiancée, my Mercedes, had married another. And not just any man, but one of the very fiends who betrayed me. She waited for me, yes - for a total of eighteen months. What more can a lover ask of his beloved?" His face twisted as the pain that lay beneath his imperturbable exterior broke through for an instant. Then he turned to Arabella. "But you, madam - you are different. Neither in this world nor the other have there been any whispers of your turning aside from your faithfulness. It is in my power to help bring your waiting to an end; how could I refuse?" He bowed his head, his discourse complete.

"Well, my dear ladies," said Segundus after a moment. "It appears that the onus lies with you. What is your decision?"

Arabella spoke first, her eyes on her friend, who in turn gazed at her own hands as they lay in her lap. "I do not suppose anyone will be amazed to hear that I wish for my husband's safe return. I wish it with all my heart. There is much of myself that I lost in my time under the earth; but I have never forgotten Jonathan. Emma? Will you not put aside your hatred of Mr Norrell, and allow us this chance?"

Lady Pole looked up. Her grey eyes were clear and steady. "If you think my hatred of _that man_ outweighs my love for you, my dear Arabella, then you have not taken the measure of my affections for you. I know how you have missed your husband. I will not speak against this attempt to bring him back to you. Besides," she added, "I have not yet had the pleasure of denouncing Mr Norrell to his face. I find am looking forward to the encounter."

"There you have it, M'sieur Dantès," said Childermass. "The accord has been reached. Whistle for your djinni. Call up his Majesty the King of of Lost-hope."

Edmond Dantès nodded. "Ali," he said, "it is time."

The silent servant beside him smiled. The smile stretched wide across his face, and then wider still, until every long, sharp tooth in his mouth glinted in the lamplight and all four guests wondered how they could possibly have taken him for a human.

Childermass inhaled sharply. The presence of fairy-magic had previously made itself known to him in visions of rain, barren moors, castles ruinous with age, and the cry of ravens. This time he was alone in the midst of an endless silver plain, with a sky as black and soft as velvet arching overhead. The blackness was thick with stars. A hot, dry breeze touched his face, bringing with it the smell of cardamom. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the solid wood of the table under his hands. Beneath the table, he felt a foot slide forward and rest on top of his left boot. He smiled to himself. _John Segundus_.

The djinni now placed his hand upon his own chest and lifted his face to the ceiling. His lips moved as though he were speaking, but no sound came. The wind swirled about the room, died down, and then crescendoed in a whirlwind of heat and stinging sand. Ali pressed his palms together as though in prayer and then swept his arms wide in a gesture of opening. The wind, the heat, and the sand vanished all at once.

Between Arabella and Childermass sat the person once known as Stephen Black. His attire was not terribly different than Arabella remembered - he had always dressed simply but with irreproachable neatness and correctness. The chief difference was in the materials, which were of the finest imaginable, particularly his snow-white muslin neckcloth, which was as thin as a cobweb and as stiff as music paper. He also wore a delicate silver diadem, unornamented except for a few odd signs and symbols cut into its surface.

Across from him, between Lady Pole and Segundus, sat a young, pretty woman, the embodiment of everything that was delightful and amiable, all soft brown curls, light blue eyes and a sweet expression. She wore an exquisite gown made of the first warm day of spring after a long winter, and she looked about her with every evidence of curiosity and enjoyment.

"Welcome, Your Majesties," said Dantès, bowing deeply. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence."

"Stephen!" cried Lady Pole, unable to restrain herself. "Oh, Stephen! I mean - Your Majesty! I am so _very_ glad to see you! I have often wondered and worried over you, my dear friend. Why did you never tell me what had happened to you?"

"I am glad to see you also, Lady Pole, Mrs Strange," said the King with grave courtesy, inclining his head. "Forgive me for my silence. I thought it best to cut all ties with England once I assumed the throne of Lost-hope. Also, I feared it might distress you to know that I was living in Faerie."

"You didn't cut all ties, or at least not all at once," said the Queen, a dimple appearing in one cheek as she smiled. "You appeared at the shop without the slightest warning and gave me the shock of my life!"

"It didn't discourage you from coming to Lost-hope with me then and there, as I recall," said the King.

"Hush, you. It's not kind to draw attention to a lady's faults." The Queen turned to look at Arabella. "You must be Mrs Strange! I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before. The King is full of your praises. I earnestly hope he may end to your separation from Mr Strange today."

"As do I, Your Majesty," said Arabella fervently.

"Then let us waste no more time," said the King. "I will make the attempt."

He raised his hands and said: "Tree speaks to stone. Stone speaks to water. As the King of Lost-hope I call upon the old alliances of John Uskglass in England." _The room was filled with singing birds. In the blink of an eye they were there; in the blink of an eye they were gone._

Everyone, including Ali, shivered.

The King raised his hands a second time.

 _The room was full of spinning leaves. Summer-soft and green they were, turning in a wind that had come out of nowhere. In the blink of an eye they were there; in the blink of an eye they were gone._

Everyone, including Ali, brushed leaves from their heads and shoulders, only to find that there were no leaves to brush.

The King raised his hands a third time.

 _The room was full of rain - not a winter rain, but warm and full of the promise of life. In the blink of an eye it was there; in the blink of an eye it was gone._

The magic ended.

The King collapsed forward in his chair like a man in a swoon.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell were sitting at the table.

There was silence for about ten seconds, while everyone stared at each other with open mouths and wide eyes. Then they all began to speak and move about at once.

"My love!" cried the Queen, seizing the King's hands.

"Are you all right, sire?" said Childermass, helping the person who had once been Stephen Black upright.

"Yes - yes - I am well," panted the King. "But has taken nearly all my strength."

"Arabella!" shouted Jonathan Strange, and he scrambled over the table in his haste to reach his wife.

"Jonathan!" cried Arabella, throwing herself into his arms.

"Mr Norrell!" exclaimed Segundus, staring at the little man, who was so unshaven and disheveled that he bore a striking resemblance to the yellow-curtain street magicians he despised.

"Childermass!" said Mr Norrell. "Where are we? What hour is it?"

Dantès walked swiftly to the window and drew aside the tapestries that had obscured the view. Cool autumn light poured in. Mr Norrell got up so fast that he knocked over his chair, rushed to stand beside the Frenchman, threw up the sash and leaned out as far as he could, shouting "Oh! Oh, Mr Strange, it is London and it is late afternoon! We are in Hanover-square! I can see my house! It is there, across the way, right where it always used to be!" He spun around, beaming and hopping up and down in his delight. "You have done it, sir!"

"To whom are you speaking, Mr Norrell?" inquired Childermass, while Ali pressed a glass of wine into the King's hand.

"I am not sure," said Mr Norrell, after a moment's consideration. "Was it you, Mr Strange?"

Jonathan Strange stopt kissing his wife long enough to say "No sir, it was not" and then carried on.

"You have the man once known as Stephen Black to thank for it," said Lady Pole. Even she was unable to hide a slight smile at the sight of the old magician, wig askew and waistcoat wrongly buttoned, dancing an impromptu jig on the Turkish rug.

"Nay, not me, madam," said the King, reviving somewhat. "Or rather, not only me. I doubt I would ever have tried revoking the curse had not the indomitable M'sieur Dantès and his companion, the djinni, sought me out. Even then, without you and Mrs Strange coming to an agreement, I would not have done it."

"Then thanks, thanks to each and every one of you!" cried Mr Norrell, flinging his arms wide as though he would embrace the room at large. "Oh! It is such a relief to be back in this world, I cannot begin to tell you! Is it not a relief beyond words, Mr Strange?"

"Mmmph," said Jonathan Strange.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Edmond Dantès loudly, "I know that you all have much to say to one another. I beg that you will resume your seats and allow me to provide you with food to sustain you during what will no doubt be a very long discussion."

Murmuring assent and thanks, the guests - now quite a crowd - sat down once more. Ali made a series of complex gestures and the table was laden with food in the space between one breath and another. Upon silver serving dishes were a roast pheasant sitting on a bed of Corsican blackbirds, a wild boar's ham in jelly, a quarter of kid _a la tartare_ , a magnificent turbot and eight huge lobsters. Between the main dishes were smaller plates of Japanese porcelain with the various side-dishes. At either end of the table were two baskets, each containing a pyramid of the most marvelous fruit: pomegranates from Malaga, oranges from the Balearics, French peaches and Tunisian dates.

All this luxury was somewhat wasted. Dantès' guests hardly noticed what they tasted, so engrossed were they in their conversation. Dantès himself ate nothing. He sat cross-legged on the divan and watched the proceedings through half-closed eyes while smoking a bubbling, fragrant hookah. How much he heard is uncertain. There was certainly a great deal to listen to.

Strange, to Arabella: "...I tell you, Bell, I have never been so glad to be free of a place. It was the longest year of my life."

"Longest _year_? _One year_? Jonathan, my love, it is 1829!"

"Very funny, Bell. I think I would know if I'd been gone for twelve years!"

"No, _I_ know that you have been gone for twelve years. I have had to live through every single day, one after another."

"But you look exactly as you did when I spoke with you last!"

"That is kind of you, Jonathan, but I am in earnest."

"So am I! Twelve years? Truly?"

"Truly."

A pause.

"I am so very sorry, my love. I had no idea."

Lady Pole, hearing this, to herself: "And there, Mr Strange, is the story of your life in a nutshell."

Mr Norrell, to Childermass: "We heard many rumors of the new King's Book while we were...abroad. Is it true you are the Reader?"

"Aye, sir."

"You can decipher the letters?"

"Aye. It was not instantaneous. The meaning grew in my mind as I studied the symbols and copied them down. A most peculiar sensation. Like remembering something I never knew."

"They no longer exist solely on the body of that street vagabond? That is good. He was a wretched fellow!"

"He is not a bad man, sir. He put up quite patiently with being laid out like a side of beef and stared at for months on end. Mr Segundus and I redrew every line. "

Segundus, chiming in from Childermass's other side: "When it was complete we released him back into the wild, as it were - his joy was a sight to behold!"

Childermass, to Segundus: " _Then to the elements/Be free, and fare thou well_."

Mr Norrell, ignoring this exchange: "Did you consider that the placement of the writing might have had meaning?"

"Of course. We had M'sieur Minervois and M'sieur Forcalquier make engravings of Vinculus's body from every angle, so that the exact location of the writing is preserved. Then we attempted to lay out the text in an order that made sense, although that is still subject to some debate."

"What is it? Another prophecy?"

"In part. It starts out rather like the one about you and Mr Strange: _Three magicians shall appear in England. The first and second shall fear death and try to conquer it; the third shall greet death like an old friend_... It does not give a precise time, but the impression I get is that this shall happen some distance in the future. After our lifetimes. Some of it reads more like a history of events that either we know nothing about. Have you ever heard of an ancient magical school in the wilds of Scotland?"

Strange, to Mr Norrell: "Sir! We have been gone for twelve years! Did you have any notion that that much time had passed?"

"No, Mr Strange, I did not give it much thought. But it is not surprizing. Recall the tale of Anne Bloodworth, who thought she had been working for John Hollyshoes for two weeks, whereas in reality two centuries had passed. We should count ourselves fortunate to have returned so quickly."

Arabella to Segundus: "Have you got a newspaper, sir? I feel I should like to prove my claim to my husband, who looks as though he did not believe me."

Strange to Arabella: "On the contrary, my dear, I believe you entirely. I am merely trying to adjust to the idea. Do you think I am only a year older than I was when I was cursed? That would make me younger than you are now! Ha! Or perhaps twelve years worth of aging shall descend upon me all at once! Would that not be bizarre? Do I look twelve years older right now?"

"Indeed, Jonathan, I can hardly tell. Ask me again after you have had a bath, and a shave, and a hair cut, and some fresh clothes."

"Ah - yes - forgive me, Bell. I may have grown a trifle lax in matters of my personal toilet during my enforced bachelorhood."

Mr Norrell to Childermass: "What manner of man is this Dantès? Is he a magician?"

"I do not think so, sir."

"Then how has he accomplished this? How has he gained the services of a djinni? Is he trying to trap us into assisting him in restoring the magic of France or of Turkey or some such place? Because I have no intention of doing any such thing!"

"I can only tell you what I have learned from the cards and my own observations. He has no interest in performing magic himself. What he desires is the power and controul to carry out his plans for revenge. He succeeds because he is brilliant, wealthy, ruthless, and mad."

"Mad?"

"You did not see his eyes when he spoke of being the instrument of God's Justice. I do not wonder that the djinni joined his service so willingly - it is just the sort of scheme that would appeal to one of that kind."

"Hm. Yes. You could be right about that. Historically it has always been that the more tenuous a human's grasp on sanity, the better their capacity for interaction with citizens of Faerie."

Strange to Segundus: "No, sir, why should I mind? I cannot think of any one I would rather have had write my biography."

"Thank you, Mr Strange. I often worried that I was acting presumptuously, but Mrs Strange was ever my champion, urging me forward when my timidity would have kept me from ever completing the manuscript."

"Do you hear that, Bell? You are a champion!"

"Mr Segundus, you are too modest. You spent countless hours amassing documents and anecdotes, and then knitting them into a readable whole - I merely encouraged you. Truth be told, Jonathan, I was particularly eager for the book to be completed for my own selfish reasons. My memories from before my time in Lost-hope have remained disconnected and muddled. I wanted as much of you as possible captured in writing, so that I could never lose you..."

"Ah, my dearest. Do not cry. I will be happy to tell you about myself from dawn till dusk for the rest of our lives."

"I am sure of it, my love."

Eventually the dinner party - or the high tea - (whatever it was, it was surely one of the strangest ever to be held on English soil) drew to its end. Ali removed the remains of the food and all of the dishes and cutlery with another curious motion of his hands. Edmond Dantès uncoiled himself from the divan and said: "Thank you all for coming. I know you are eager to return to your homes. Mr Strange, Mr Norrell; I hope that this evening's events have made you my friends, should I ever have the need of your advice or aid." The two magicians bowed, looking rather dubious.

The King and Queen of Lost-hope bade courteous farewells to the assembly, told Ali that he was welcome to visit, and vanished with a sound of silver bells.

Lady Pole shuddered. Then she turned to Mr Norrell and said: "Sir: do not suppose for a moment that I have forgiven you. I have not."

Mr Norrell said, "I should not have expected you to, my lady," with unusual gentleness.

Dantès bowed them out of the room and Ali shewed them down the stairs, through the hall, and onto the pavement.

"I suppose our house has returned to Soho-square," said Strange doubtfully.

"In what condition?" inquired Arabella. "Is it infested with otherworldly pests?"

"Not as such, no. But is not exactly tidy."

"Why do you not both return to Harley-street with me?" said Lady Pole. "That is where your things are already in any case, Arabella. We should be honored to have your husband join us too." She did not mention Mr Norrell.

"Oh! But are you certain it would not be an inconvenience?" said Arabella. "I would not wish to cause you any distress, my dear Emma."

"Nonsense. I am not so frail as all that. Besides, I shall enjoy seeing Sir Walter's face when he realizes who our new guest is."

"That is most gracious of you, Lady Pole. We accept with thanks," said Strange.

"Are you and Mr Childermass coming back with us, Mr Segundus?" said Arabella, turning to her friend. He shook his head.

"I think not, madam. Both of us are feeling the need to clear our minds of magic for a while. We shall walk until we find an inviting pub and then stop for some ale. Tonight's repast, while sumptuous, was not precisely settling."

"Very well. I hope we shall see you very soon," said Strange, shaking his hand. "We have much to talk about. Childermass!" he added, raising his voice. "Farewell for the present!"

"Goodnight, sir," said Childermass, who had been half-listening to Mr Norrell deliver a lecture on how uncomfortable he was with being in debt to a deranged French convict. "It is good to have you back with us, Mr Strange."

"And what of me, Childermass?" said Mr Norrell peevishly, as those destined for Harley-street climbed into Lady Pole's carriage.

"I am glad to see you too, sir, of course," said Childermass.

"Shall you not come work for me again? Fairy-servants, although they might have a deal of magical skill, are rubbish at keeping house. I would welcome your help getting things back in order."

Childermass's long smile ran up one side of his face. "No, sir. I look forward to hearing of your many discoveries, and I am relieved to have you and Mr Strange back on this side of the rain, but you are no longer my master. Do not sputter," he went on, holding up a hand to forestall Mr Norrell's protests. "I will see if Lucas and Davey and the rest would like to take service under you once more, and if not, I will find you new servants. But I will not come. I told you that you were the last master I should ever had, and I spoke true. No more masters for me."

"Are you sure?" said Mr Norrell. "You seem to be working very closely with that Segundus fellow."

"He is not my master," said Childermass. He touched the brim of his hat and started walking away.

"Oh? What is he?"

Childermass paused. "My home," he said, and walked on. Segundus fell into step beside him and they continued down the street, already in conversation about the events of the evening.

Mr Norrell watched them go, his brow furrowed. Then he gave a rather Childermass-like shrug and went back to his house. He was looking forward to a sleep that would end in sunrise.

From the window of the upstairs room, Edmond Dantès observed the dispersion of the final players in the drama he had organized. He muttered: "I have taken the place of Providence to reward the good; now let the avenging God make way for me to punish the wrongdoer!" And he turned away.

Notes:

Segundus and Childermass have Shakespeare on the brain-they both quote "The Tempest" in this chapter.

Some descriptions and dialogue taken from "The Count of Monte Cristo" by Alexandre Dumas, and from "The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye" by A. S. Byatt.

I based Stephen's spell on the one cast by the Gentleman in JS&MN-the-book, when he first traps Jonathan Strange in Eternal Night.

I borrowed M'sieur Minervois and M'sieur Forcalquier from the book as well-they did the engravings for "The History and Practice of English Magic."

And that's that! I may tack on an epilogue someday, if I can settle in my own mind what favor Edmond Dantès asks of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.


End file.
